Love Is Insane
by GraceTheGraceless
Summary: (Based loosely off Your Lie In April) Dick Grayson has always played piano, no great tragedy effecting that part of him. Until he meets Wally West. If it isn't bad enough that he has to play for this stupid school of the arts, now he's met some kid who makes his heart flutter whenever they're even in the same room! And what's this kid hiding behind his singing and bright eyes?
1. Mozart Was Crazy

For as long as he could remember, Richard John Grayson loved music. He loved the feeling of his finger on piano keys, harp strings, trumpet keys, and anything else he could get a hold of.

In fact, he loved it so much that he seemed to practice night and day, rehearsing Mozart, Beethoven, and anything he could read. Baby blue eyes would close, allowing some peace as he focused on his music.

There was nothing other than his music as everything else seemed to vanish when he was playing.

Everything else went away.

Richard also composed original music, even going as far as writing lyrics above sloppy eighth notes and playing them out.

"_Mozart was crazy._

_Flat fucking crazy._

_Batshit, I hear."_

He studied music closely, heart skipping every other beat as he set the metronome for the first time that day. He would take a deep, controlled breath and press down on the piano keys, and after a few seconds notes would flow from his lips and he would sing a beautiful song.

"_But his music's not crazy,_

_It's balanced, it's nimble,_

_It's crystalline clear."_

Academically, Richard was average at best. Sure, he could do calculus and trigonometry, but he didn't enjoy any of it. When he dove into science and literature, Dick found his head spinning, blood pumping hard, vision black.

"_There's harmony, logic,_

_You listen to these._

_You don't hear his doubts,_

_Or his debts or disease."_

He wrote with speed, never seeming to stop until whatever he was doing was done. The thought of his music was probably the only thing that kept him sane. Everyday he worked like this, writing until he could barely read the text in front of him, then he would grab some water and dive into sheet music.

"_You scan through the score,_

_And put fingers on keys,_

_And you play._

_And everything else goes away._

_Everything else goes away."_

And yet, even with all the work he did, and the excruciating effort put into his everyday school work, Dick was actually just barely safe from drowning in terrible grades. He wanted an early admit from school, though he was already more than a couple grades ahead of other kids his age, and could get into his first choice college (Yale) with only a few setbacks.

"_And you play 'til it's perfect,_

_You play 'til you ache,_

_You play 'til the strings or your fingernails break."_

Main setback? He didn't have enough school credit.

"_So you'll rock that recital,_

_And get into Yale._

_So you won't feel so sick,_

_And you won't look so pale."_

This in turn led to the most embarrassing thing he would ever do (in his opinion).

"_'Cause you've got your full ride,_

_And you're early admit._

_So you're done with this school,_

_And with all of this shit."_

It being for school made it worthy, right?

"_And you graduate early,_

_You're gone as of May,_

_And there's nothing your paranoid parents can say."_

He would play showtunes day and night for his high school's drama club for a few weeks, right before their big play of the year. For the actual performance, they would hire a real musician, but dress rehearsals needed music, so Dick would play it for them.

"_And you know that it's just a sonata away,_

_And you play,_

_And you play._

_And everything else goes away,_

_Everything else goes away."_

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad...

"_Everything else goes away."_

...but as far as Dick was concerned it so would be.


	2. Oh Shit I'm In Love

It was… difficult.

So much was expected of him, and there was nothing he could to to stop it. Prevention of such a horrible crime simply could not be done. And so, he was left to rot in the live that was Richard John Grayson-Wayne, billionaire playboy Bruce Wayne's son.

He used to be Dickey-bird, the special boy who flew in the sky like a Robin. He imagined that he could one day return to his life as a circus performer, but it was far from reality.

Far, far away from reality.

Reality.

Such a cruel notion of which he wanted to rid himself. He remeber living carelessly, without limit or strife. Nowadays children teased him, taunting him with names like "circus freak" or "gypsy boy". To the bullies, these names were painful knives, cutting through his skin and killing him in a slow.

"_Led through the mist,"_

Only the insults weren't insults to him at all. They were practically complements; little bits of the past he wished too desperately he could rekindle. He remembered the screams and red on the floors. He remembered people everywhere and a broken trapeze wire. But he didn't remember them.

"_By the milk-light of moon,"_

Bruce told him he was too young, the therapist told him he was too young, the doctor told him he was too young; everybody doubted his memory at such an age except Alfred. Alfred understood. He understood that Dick simply didn't want to remember. It wasn't "natural" or "healthy" and he understood that. He understood everything. He always had.

"_All that was lost, is revealed."_

Though Alfred understood not wanting to remember, he still knew he had seen it. Even without the actual image in his mind, he just _knew_ that he had seen it. And that scared him even more, because he had seen everything around the image, but when it came right down to it, the actual sight of his parents broken bodies, motionless in a pool of blood, was missing.

"_Our long bygone burdens, mere echoes of the spring,"_

He saw the same yellow floor of the main tent, the same fabric walls, the same bright lights, the same circus. He saw shocked faces, terrified expressions, broken equipment, and tears leaking from his eyes. But not his parents. He never saw them.

"_But where have we come, and where shall we end?"_

He felt empty. Nervous. Lonely.

"_If dreams can't come true, then why not pretend?"_

People told him that music was just his way of filling the hole in his heart, but that just wasn't it. He remembered playing with his mother after watching their performance, his father dancing around the empty tent with a lively, half-turned smile between his cheeks. Mr. Haley would jump from the center platform onto the main stage, announcing Dick's current piece. His kind, inviting voice would boom throughout the tent, bouncing off the striped fabric walls of the main tent.

"_Oh how the gentle wind,"_

Mamica would smile and kiss his forehead before flipping over into her hands to waddle over to Tati. She would backflip or triple flip up into the air and land on her feet, then take Tati's hands in her's and smile at him. He would smile back and lean forward, planting a dry kiss on her forehead or her cheek. She would giggle and blush before smirking to pull him in for a real kiss on the lips.

When they kissed like that, laughed like that, smiled like that...Dick knew his parents were soulmates whenever they did. And when they didn't. Their act alone was enough to prove how much they loved each other; leaping willingly into each others arms before twisting and twirling in the air. That kind of trust proved their love even more. They didn't need a net; they had each other.

"_Beckons through the leaves,"_

He saw their love until the bitter end, and once the bitter end came, he forgot the form it took: his parents lying on the circus floor, dead.

The same circus floor that had kept them happy, that they had danced and performed upon, that he had taken his first steps on, now held the image of bloody murder.

"_As autumn colors fall."_

There was nobody left, and Dick grew to enjoy the deep, empty feeling that came with being alone. When you suffer a loss as great as Dick did, you find that people like to leave you alone to wallow in your own self-pity and sadness. They leave you alone by the grave, and in every moment after you say goodbye, you are basically alone. Sure, people promise to be supportive, and they really do try, spinning empty promises to "be there for you" out of straw.

"_Dancing in a swirl,"_

Dick, however, found himself enjoying the quiet people gave him. He found himself noticing individual colored leaves in piles under bare trees, feeling the cotton-esque feel of snow beneath his palms, and the warm, refreshing feeling of the pre-summer sun on his cheeks. Most would call it spring, but Dick found that is was more like a week of perfect weather before Gotham City was flooded with heat for months on end.

Often springtime made him remember the lavish, attention-filled first day of spring, where "Happy Birthday" would ring out in Romanian and every other native tune to make the child smile until his eyes closed for bedtime.

"_Of golden memories,"_

He didn't realize how out of place everything felt until it was too late. How different his life was, all because one night, two birds had their wings clipped for good. He never knew how much he depended upon the circus. It kept him happy and sane, and now he felt somewhere in between lost and found, drifting mindlessly throughout his new life in Gotham.

"_The loveliest lies of all,"_

Gotham City, which merged perfectly into both Central City and Star City, had one major school for performing arts, which was called Central Star Academy of Theatrical Education and Performance. Most people just called it "that one art school" though. And he was inside it. Inside the school for singing, dancing, dorks.

Honestly, it was far less… plasticy as he originally thought, though people stared at him with sharp, jugement filled glares as he was led down a long hallway and into the 3rd staged room in the building's left wing. Being the only arts school between 3 major cities, Central Star was bigger than Dick's house (which was saying something, as Richard lived in Wayne Manor, one of the largest homes on the east coast).

Even now, as he sat at the piano, fingers pressing forcefully on the chipped keys, he felt judged, as though somebody was staring at him, critiquing his song. The song that his mother taught him to play when he was 4-years-old.

"_The loveliest lies of all."_

It was only once he finished playing that he realized he _was_ being watched. Somebody was behind him, clapping in a perfectly dull pace. He froze, spine straightening as he awaiting the taunts that would (most likely) bring him a familiar feeling of comfort.

Only, the insults never came.

"Dude, that was awesome! Please tell me you're the pianist?" said an exuberant, overly-joyful voice.

"Uh…" Dick racked his brain for an answer that wouldn't get him beaten to a pulp, and managed to get out a nervous "Yeah" before being bombarded with more questions.

"Awesome! Group B right? Well, I'm sure you're for group B because that's my group and I can't help but feel connected to your style somehow." the voice went on. Dick realized he hadn't turned around to look at this voice, so he turned around on the stool, baby-blue eyes landing on the voice's body.

He was tall-ish for a high schooler, pale skin dotted with freckles. His eyes were bright green, and almost seemed as though they were big enough to be jewelry pieces, especially since they sparked in the light, making Dick's heart flutter underneath it's loud, nervous pounding. He wore a yellow and orange plaid top with a white t-shirt underneath, a pair of fading jeans, red converse, and an indigo satchel-bag. Utop his oval-shaped head, there was a fluffy tuft of orange hair, colored just as bright as the rest of him. This kid could have been physically glowing; every aspect of him was luminous and overly-cheerful.

"My style?" Dick heard himself ask. The blood was pounding in his ears, and he didn't actually register the words in his head until they were already out of his mouth, tripping over his trembling lower lip and falling to the floor in a hushed mess of letters that somehow the highschooler seemed to identify as a sentence.

The kid ran a quick hand through his hair, still smiling.

"Yeah, your style. The way you play, it was so...magical. Not exactly a unique term for it, but it _so_ was! And you're eyes were closed for most of that too! Like, wow! Either you really know your stuff or you've played that 8o million times." He took a few steps closer and extended his hand, smile stretching out to form adorable dimples.

'_ohmygod he's cute'_

"I'm Wally West, by the way." Dick tentatively placed his hand in Wally's, and tried his best to act "cool" in front of him.

"Richard Grayson," he nodded, drawing back his hand after Wally gave it a few good pumps of the wrist. "But I go by Dick."

Wally smiled again, eyes sparkling, as though he was oblivious to the way such an action made Dick's chest ache affectionately, cheeks heating up.

"Waitwaitwait. Dick Grayson? As in Richard Grayson-Wayne; Bruce Wayne's kid?" Wally asked, plopping down on the stool next to the piano. Dick nodded, absentmindedly tapping on the piano keys with his left hand. He wasn't playing a song this time. It was a simple scale; a finger exercise set an octave below Middle C.

"Cool! Not even on Broadway and I've already met somebody famous!" Wally pumped a fist into the air, as if meeting Dick was some sort of amazing feat, when it was really nothing more than a coincidence. An accident at best.

"I...I'm not really famous...Bruce just does a lot of good stuff…" Dick stuttered, voice rather small and pathetic. Luckily, Wally didn't seem to notice. Either that, or he just didn't care.

"Well, I consider you famous. That okay?" Wally asked, unaware that Dick was using all his inner willpower to prevent himself from leaning forward and burying himself in the front of his chest. They'd only just met and already Dick was positive that he was in love with Wally West. Then again, he'd never been in love before, so who was he to decide what love really was?

"Yeah, that's...that's fine." Dick said, flashing his best smile. He made sure that it was the kind of smile he would use during a circus performance as opposed to the kind he would flash to reporters with video cameras. Wally didn't deserve a fake smile. "So, you're in the showcase?"

Wally nodded, smiling enthusiastically _again_.

'_if he smiles like that one more time i will melt like the wicked witch.'_

"Sure am! I have 2 solo numbers and the group number at the end. It's all I could ever ask for and more!"

He smiled again, and Dick was almost positive he would melt, but he didn't. At least not physically.

"We've got a few minutes," Dick said, still quietly playing scales. "If you have your sheet music I could play one of your solos." Wally light up with Dick's offer. He dug through his bag and pulled out a fading pink folder. He pulled out a few slightly-creased pages and handed them to Richard.

"Corner of the Sky," Dick read aloud, eyes scanning over the notes. He set the pages on the rack over the top of the piano and positioned his fingers. He paused before playing, remembering that Wally would want to be ready himself before performing. He wondered what kind of voice Wally would have, but couldn't seem to picture it in his head.

Wally threw his bag across the room and stood straight, feet apart, eyes closed as he breathed deeply. After a few breaths, "Ready."

Dick closed and pressed down, fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. After the first few seconds, Wally drew in a perfectly even breath and began to sing. He sang about rivers and eagles and, among other things, finding his place in the world.

Dick almost slipped up when Wally began to sing.

His voice was strong, and was high enough to be in an alto or middle instead of a tenor. If he had slipped up, Dick could have blamed it on him never playing while someone else sang before, but it was rather easy to weave his notes with Wally's.

Eventually the song stopped, Wally having held a rather high note for a few seconds. He panted a bit, and looked over to see Dick smiling at him. Presumably the grin was due to how well they played together, the combined efforts of Wally's vocal cords and Dick's fingers managing to create an almost god-like music. Only that wasn't why Dick was smiling.

'_oh shit i'm in love'_


	3. Then He Was Gone

Despite his early protesting of playing the typical lyrical, "upbeat" songs used in musicals, Dick found that the more he played them, the more he came to love them. Each song had a different feeling it was trying to convey; emotions that seemed to be stapled to the notes and words, creating something truly magical.

He played a few shorter songs ("Hello Little Girl", "De-Lovely", and "Mother, Please, I'm Scared!") before the rest of Wally's class filed into the room.

The professor, Miss. Caroline, introduced Dick to the group, making sure to mention who his father was.

"Mr. Grayson happens to be the son of multi millionaire Bruce Wayne, who sponsors all of our showcases and performances." She said, voice dripping with sweetness that, surprisingly, didn't seem to be the least be fake. Either she was genuinely happy everyday, or was just a very good actress. Maybe both?

Miss Caroline turned to Dick, who was still stationed at the piano. "Be sure to thank you father for us, won't you?" He blushed and nodded, but focussed on keeping the group of people in front of him.

The one perk of attending all of the fundraisers and benefits Bruce dragged him to was that he knew hot to face crowds. At the circus, people were there to watch and applaud him, and he didn't have to entertain let alone acknowledge them. Once Bruce began taking him to charity events, he had to give speeches and introduce himself to important people.

"I'll be sure to tell him." Dick said, flashing his "perfect son" smile. The same way Bruce could cast a glare strong enough to curdle milk, Richard could smile so perfectly that he everybody assumed he was the perfect, happy-living child.

"Now then," the teacher said, turning to address mainly her students. "As you all know, in a couple of months we will be performing our very first showcase!" She paused in her speech to let her class clap.

Dick remembered being this excited to perform. He used to feel this way every night...

"Now then, everyone here has at least one solo song, and today is, as it is every Monday, our extended period, so I thought we could have Mr. Grayson play each of our songs for rehearsal today."

Dick cleared his throat. "I, uh, you can call me Dick. It's my name so...yeah..." God, why were these butterflies fluttering around his stomach? He had corrected people on his name so many times before...it wasn't because Wally was here, was it?

"Oh, of course!" The teacher smiled. "Now then, I assume everyone has their sheet music with them?" Miss. Caroline asked, turning back to her class. A perky voice from the back of the class.

"Um, I forgot mine at home." It quietly admitted. Her teacher groaned. "Again, Megan?"

A perky, pale-skinned girl with deep red hair moved to the front, a sheepish grin on her face. "Sorry Miss Caroline. I left it at my Uncle John's house." The teacher handed her a crisp copy of music.

"Well, Megan, now that you have your music, why don't you go first?"

The girl nodded and skipped over to the piano, handing Dick her music sheets. "I'm Megan Morzz," she smiled, extending her hand out. He shook it with ease before turning back to the music. He glanced over the stanzas before the title. "Popular," he read aloud.

Despite his extremely basic knowledge of musicals, Dick knew enough about Broadway to make a comment. "Wicked." He breathed. "Good choice." Out came another perfect smile as he placed his hands over the keys before returning his gaze to her. "Whenever you're ready."

She took a stance similar to what Wally took, legs spread apart at shoulder width, posture straight as a board. She turned her head to look at him, and nodded at him, signalling that he should begin.

He pressed down on the keys, blocking out all other noise. All he needed to hear was Megan and his piano. His notes. His music.

Her voice was soft, but jittery and full of passion. Dick realized how she sang, and adjusted accordingly. Instead of playing longer, more graceful notes, he made sure they had an exuberant edge to them, along with a tempo that sounded more careless and joyful than it really was.

And almost as soon as she had begun, the song had finished, and Megan skipped back over to collect her music. She winked playfully at him, as if to say "good job!" or to congratulate him on his apparent "skill".

Everyone clapped, and Dick was certain they were all cheering for Megan, a fact with which he was comfortable with. He was certain they were all clapping for Megan, until he looked up and saw Wally, grinning as he let out booming, explosive minutes of applause in Dick's direction.

Eventually, the fame of the moment vanished, and Dick found himself being handed another piece of music.

The boy handing it to him was tall (taller than he should have been, Dick thought), somewhat muscular, and had hair almost as dark as Dick's was. He gripped his music as though it could vanish is he did not keep a close eye on it, but his expression showed no admiration towards it whatsoever.

"Glory." The song was from the same musical Wally's had been from. "You guys sure like Pippin, don't you?" he said, attempting to lighten the mood. Connor kept a straight face and walked to the middle of the room.

His voice was _very_ different from what Dick had expected.

It was strong, but not as much as expected. In fact, it sounded a little weak, as though a note high enough could cause it to snap like a strip of wire. But as the song got higher, so did Connor's voice, without wavering.

His posture was excellent; feet apart, head even and never tilting to hit the notes. His shoulders were relaxed, and his hands lay limp at his sides. Perfect stance.

Before he knew what was happening, Dick had played about 7 songs, listening closely to analyze each voice. By the time it was over, he felt exhausted. He would never have to stay a full day, just the beginning half to play the music.

He was ready to make the journey home when Wally stopped him, huge grin on his face.

'_oh man he's so fucking cute'_

"Hey Dick! You going home? Is your dad coming to pick you up?"

The questions were so rapidly thrown at him, Dick wondered if he had heard them all correctly. "I...this is really embarrassing, but could you repeat your questions slower?" Dick asked, blushing a little. Wally cocked his head to the side for a few seconds in response, orange hair falling over his eyes.

Dick felt his heart skip a beat.

"Sure! Sorry about that, I sometimes talk a little too fast." This time Wally blushed, clearly embarrassed about his habit. "Is your dad coming to pick you up? Gotham City is pretty far away from here."

Dick shoot his head. "Nope. We have an old apartment in a complex nearby. Since I'm gonna be here for a few weeks, I'm living alone until after the showcase."

Wally's eyes lit up, as if he had never seen a teenager who lived alone before. Maybe he never had…

"That is _so_ cool! I wish I got to live alone!" Richard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Sure, the idea of living alone was fun, but it was also a lot of work. He had to do all the cooking, cleaning, and shopping by himself, and he had to walk everywhere or take his bike. And that was just a regular day, god forbid he get hurt or fall ill. He'd be helpless alone. Helpless, alone, and scared.

"Yeah," he decided to flatter Wally's reaction. "It's pretty cool. You should come over some time." he filled his bag with a folder of music sheets and zipped it up before tossing the straps over his shoulders.

"Ah, that'd be cool!" Wally smiled, the cute, small smile that made Dick's heart flutter, but ended 2 seconds before it actually skipped a beat. A car horn interrupted his thoughts, followed by Wally grabbing his own things. "Sorry," he said, rubbing the back of his head apologetically. "I gotta go. See you tomorrow!"

This is the part where Dick should think something like 'Then, he was gone...', only it wasn't like that. Wally jogged over to a creme-colored car, smiled at the woman inside, and climbed into the passenger seat. After a few minutes, the car vanished from sight. _Then_ he was gone.


	4. Living Alone

The whole way home, Dick thought about how amazing Wally thought Dick was for living alone. It wasn't even permanent! That awesome power would vanish once the showcase was over. The night before he would pack up, and Bruce would help him move his stuff back home.

The thought of leaving actually made him sad, a fact that was in and of itself curious, especially since Dick had only just moved in.

A sigh escaped his lips and he fished through his pockets for his key. He wiped his shoes on the mat in front of the painfully _green_ door and turned the key, pushing the door open.

Inside, the room was dark and cold, a feeling that made his skin crawl, goosebumps popping up on his skin uninvited.

He stepped inside and turned on the light, then made a mad-dash to the heater. It was fucking freezing inside, almost colder than outside. All Dick wanted to do was curl up on the couch under a blanket and watch tv, but Alfred would make him… wait. He lived alone now, which meant he could do anything he wanted (within reason).

Suppressing a grin, Dick pulled the comforter off his bed and curled up on the couch. Some show about mental illness was on, and the narration made good white noise. He soon found his skin warm and fuzzy, eyes drooping. Deciding that taking a nap was perfectly acceptable, Dick flopped to his side, snuggling deep into the covers.

Soon enough his eyes closed, breath evening out as the television kept blabbing on about mental deficiencies.

Most likely brought about by the tv program, Dick dreamed he was crazy. He dreamed that he missed an easy note in his final score, and something about missing that note broke him. He thought about missing that note like his parents missing all his recent birthdays, and missing his life.

Dream-him ripped the keys off his beautifully ancient piano before smashing the exterior to pieces. Specks of blood dripped down from his broken nails, making him cry.

When he woke up, it was all at once; he gasped as though he had held his breath for the entirety of the dream, eyes wide. After reassuring himself that he was awake and sane and perfectly alright, he sat up, pushing the comforter away. The room felt warmer now, and he had a strange craving for iced tea.

There was an old box of raspberry tea on the counter, something Alfred had packed away for him until Dick had to do his own food shopping (a chore that he was not looking forward too). With a shrug of his shoulders, Dick filled a mug with water from the tap and set it in the microwave for about a minute.

After it beeped, he dropped the tea bag inside, and set it in the mug in the refrigerator to cool while it steeped. He considered grabbing an apple as a poor substitute for a meal, but without Alfred to nag him about missing meals, he decided it was safe to miss dinner just this once.

He folded his comforter up and carried it back to his room, which was relatively small. There was a bed with a side table next to it, and a dresser across from that. The closet was small, and the room honestly made him a little claustrophobic and uneasy.

Dick laid the comforter back over his bed and returned to the living room, feeling drowsy again. He set the tv to a cartoon station, and pulled his laptop off the coffee table and placed it on his lap.

_Enter Password: •••••••••••_

He scrolled down twitter and several other news feeds for about 15 minutes before retrieving his tea from the fridge. This night was turning out to be rather uneventful, not that he minded.

Most nights at the manor were filled with piano practices, acrobatic training, (unnecessary) math reviews, and public events. For the next few weeks, Richard Grayson was going to be on his own, living his days peacefully as possible.

God damnit, he was going to savor this!


	5. What's the Romanian Word

The next few days passed in a sleepy blur for Dick. He spent every waking hour practicing his piano skills. For whatever reason, Dick felt a need to play better than he ever had.

_'i'm totally not doing this for wally' _

In fact, he was so sure this was not for Wally, he called Bruce for an update on his scholarship. Since day one, Dick showed little interest in the thought of playing for reward; the music was reward enough.

The memories he carried in his notes and stanzas, hiding in even the smallest corners of the page to remind him of who he is. Who he was...

The conversation was short, as most conversations with Bruce were, taking only about the main point and never straying.

_"So I was wondering about my scholarship performance."_

_"Have you picked a piece yet? You'll need all the practice you can get."_

_"Yeah...I picked a piece. My first song is a Chopin song, the fast one I played for Alfred last Christmas."_

_"I remember." _Pause. _"You made 7 mistakes. Practice that one."_

_"Okay."_

Another dreadful pause.

_"Have you picked your second song?" _

_"Not yet."_

_"Call me when you do, okay?" _

_"Yeah. Yeah, I will. Bye Bruce, I love you."_

_"I love you too, Dickie-bird. Goodnight."_

_"Night."_

Dick had yet to even look at songs for the second performance. Would he actually make it in? Would he be able to play well enough to earn a free education?

"And would it even be free?" Dick asked Wally one lunch over salad and cherry coke. Wally shrugged through a mouthful of chicken salad on rye.

"I mean," he continued, stabbing an innocent price of lettuce with his fork. "If be working night and day. What's the point of it being free if I'm sacrificing 4 years of my life?"

He sighed a large, dramatic sigh, and flopped back onto the grass next to Wally. He tried not to blush, and settled for simply closing his eyes and whining as Wally himself often did.

"Wa~~ally! Help me~~e!"

The ginger boy chuckled and took a sip of soda. "Would if I could, piano boy." Dick pulled him down next to himself, wrapping his arms around Wallys torso.

"I'm gonna die at college." He moaned, face pressed into Wally's shirt. He chuckled again.

"You won't die. And besides, college is a long way away for you." Dick pouted and stuck out his tongue, muttering in Romanian. This was a habit Wally had grown accustomed to.

"Hey Dick?" He asked. He stopped pouring for a second.

"Yeah?"

Wally grinned. "What's the Romanian word for 'shut the hell up'?" Dick launched himself onto Wally.

"Hey!"


	6. Come Crash at My Place

It was painfully _boring_ waiting for Wally. Dick had about 27 minutes to Wally's last class ended, and he was beginning to feel that he would die before it ended. Normally, he would've gone home two hours ago, but today was different. Today while he was coming over to play video games after school.

The very thought of Wally in his house breathing the same air as him for four hours or more made Dick's heart pound. He could feel his head getting heavy, and was certainly a crimson blush was creeping up to paint his cheeks. He cursed body for doing this _every time_ he thought about Wally. It was so embarrassing!

But then, the thought of sharing the same space is locked Wally for so long was an amazing thought even so, especially since it would just be them, no one around to bother them are still Wally out of Dick's grasp.

Recently he and while he became close, much closer than before. They'd sit together (alone) at lunch, joke around all the time, and practice constantly for the showcase. The showcase... The very thought of it made Dick woozy with regret.

Soon enough the showcase would actually happen. Dick dreaded it. In a week and a half he'd be shipped back home. God, a week and a half. Hadn't he just come here? Hadn't he just moved in? Dick felt his stomach lurch when he thought about it. Usually, thinking of this place made him think of his circus life. This was no different.

_"But we just got settled here!"_

_"Dickie-bird, we finished 4 shows, we have to move on."_

_"But my friends!" _

_"Sometimes, we have to say goodbye."_

Sometimes...you have to say goodbye.

Dick shook his head again, then flipped off the bench he had settled on, landing on his hands. After walking around for a bit, he grew bored and cart-wheeled himself back onto his feet. He was off today, slamming into a tree. He groaned, then decided to take a rest under it.

It didn't take long for him to doze off, first gradually, then all at once. He only woke up because he felt himself being jostled up, then lifted, and shifted. He forced his eyes open and saw a tuft of orange hair, and then realized he was being carried.

"Mm...Wally?" he croaked, voice suddenly feeling sore.

"Go back to sleep." he said. Dick groaned; this was confusing. How did Wally know where he lived?

He shifted on Wally's back. "e're w'e goin'?" he slurred, still partially asleep.

Wally chuckled a little. "Sleepover, remember? My aunt and uncle are out. I don't expect you to remember though. You're pretty out of it, and kinda warm. Why didn't you tell me you felt a cold coming on?" he asked, slowly taking the stairs of the apartment.

_Step_

_Step_

_Step_

_Step_

_Step_

_Step_

_Step_

Wally turned his arm back and fished the key out of Dick's side pocket, then opened and unlocked (you know which came first) the door. It was cooler than outside, which sucked major ass, but still felt cozy. Funny how being inside a house could do that. To Wally, at least. Dick felt safer outside, as that was closer to the ancient feeling of the circus tent than the apartment was. The only thing that made Wayne Manner even slightly comfortable was the fact that it was as big as the main tent.

Soon enough the heater was on, and the overhead lighting illuminated the whole complex. Wally grinned and removed his shoes, eyes exploring every inch of the apartment. From the doorway one could see the kitchen area, living room, and the door to Dick's bedroom, as well as the door to the hall.

Dick grinned. He knew exactly what he wanted to show Wally first.

"Follow me." he said, aching muscles a thought of the past. He led Wally down the short hall, and to a pale blue door. Inside, was the most amazing room Wally had ever seen. By the window, an elegant grand piano stood, shining brightly. Then there was a violin, several flutes, and a trumpet, as well as several other instruments.

At the sight of the violin, Wally's eyes lit up. "Can you play all these?" he asked, trying not to stare at the instrument in question. Dick shook his head.

"Just the piano," he replied. "I know Bruce wants me to learn, but…" he sat on the piano bench. "The piano is where my heart lives. What about you? Can you play any of these?" Wally jumped at the invitation, running over to the violin.

It felt smooth in his hands, edges polished and new. He could tell it hadn't been played in a long time, but had simply been cleaned. His own violin, despite constant care and cleaning, was full of minor wear, and fingerprints dulled the amber wood.

"Mhm! I'm a violinist!" he smiled, running his finger over each of the strings. Dick smiled.

"Can you play the Kreutzer Sonata?" he asked, absentmindedly drumming on the edge of the piano.

Wally's eyes lit up. "Can I ever!" he smiled. Dick hit the opening key, and Wally held up the violin. No words were needed, the two in perfect sync.

For the first time in his life, Dick didn't mind being an accompanist.


	7. Remembering with Music

The sound, the movement, the grace, nobility, and passion. Wally's playing was amazing. It was unlike anything Dick had ever heard.

The notes seemed to take off and fly to their own accord, ignoring any notation given by the composer. Wally himself moved without notice of the piano; without any care towards anything Dick was doing. He only cared about _his_ sound.

And that was a beautiful thing.

The piece was different when Wally played it.

It took off, morphing into a different song entirely. Certain music fans would be enraged, furious at him for taking such an unnatural turn to the classic gusto of the song, but if anything, Dick loved him for it.

Richard pressed on, keeping Wally in tempo with his own playing. Typically, the piano was the accompanist, and the violin was the soloist. And despite Dick's solo nature, he backed down, playing as calmly as he could.

He kept going, until a sharp pain pierced through his right temple.

Fingers halting over the keys, Dick leaned forward, resting his head just over the keys. He whimpered painfully, face screwed up.

Wally stopped playing, set the instrument down in favor of crossing the room to reach his friend.

"Dick!" he exclaimed, laying a soothing hand on the young boy's back. He hissed at the sudden heat seeping through his shirt. "You're burning up!" he noted, rubbing circles in Dick's back.

The smaller boy had begun coughing. The dry, heaving coughs that made he and wally both wince.

He finally ceased coughing, only to shiver miserably. As usual, illness had hit Richard like a sack of bricks: one minute he's fine, the next he's boiling and unable to breathe.

Dick whimpered. "H'rts…" he moaned, very suddenly broken. English was so hard...so confusing...it would soon leave him to bably feverishly in Romanian, as it always did when he was ill.

"Hey, hey, hey." Wally said softly, shaking him a little in attempt to keep him clinging to consciousness. "Let's get you," there was a pause, where Wally hoisted Dick bridal style into his arms. He frowned at the persistant heat. "Let's get you to bed."

* * *

"38.7…" Wally sighed, frowning at the reading. He had piled 3 blankets (2 quilts and a duvet) on top of Dick's shivering, sweating form, then placed a lukewarm cloth over his forehead.

The poor boy's breathing was rough and erratic, hot air puffing from ruby-red lips. Dick groped blindly around for Wally.

The ginger boy grasped his hand firmly. "I'm right here." he said, giving it a light squeeze. "I'll stay right here, I promise."

Dick rolled onto his side, facing Wally. He adjusted the cloth the fit back over Dick's forehead. The ill boy whimpered.

"H'rts…" he groaned.

"What hurts?" Wally asked, voice soft as possible.

"Light." Dick whispered. Wally moved the cloth over Dick's already-closed eyes.

"Better?" he asked. Dick hummed softly in content.

"I used to get sick all the time." he mumbled. "Back when I was still an acrobat. And my mamaica would always sing me the same song about stars."

Wally knew what his poorly friend wanted, and huffed in a breath.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,"

"_Roy, sing me a song!"_

"_Only if you play along. You know this one, right?"_

"_Yup!"_

"How I wonder what you are."

"_Why is mommy crying?"_

"_Because you're playing violin."_

"Up above the world so high,"

"_I'm sorry! I promise to only play at Uncle Barry's house."_

"_I'd be truely happy if you never played at all."_

"_But I...okay…"_

"Like a diamond in the sky."

"_You're a singer, just like your dear brother Roy."_

"_Just because he can't play with one arm doesn't mean I can't. Why can't I play?"_

"_Wally!"_

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star,"

"_I...I'll sing...I promise…"_

"How I wonder what you are."

Wally bit back his tears. Just remembering the song made him weepy. He remembered playing it before Roy's accident. Before he lost his arm… He also remembered being scolded for playing rather that singing. The harder he fought for his precious violin, the more they hurt him. Every word became a physical bruise. He still had the scars from certain beatings.

He bit back his tears at the song. At Dick's labored breathing. At life.

_I don't want to remember..._


	8. To Truly Remember

"_Dick, are you ready?" _

_A boy, no older than 7 or 8, dashed up to his mother. His dark hair was wildly sticking up in every direction, smile crooked a bit. He wore a brightly colored, spandex costume, with a beautiful canary-yellow cape flowing behind him. _

"_I am!" he smiled, jumping into his mother's arms. _

_She cleared her throat. "Now then, you remember what to do?" he nodded, smile lessening a little to show how much importance he put into the task at hand, though it never left his cheeks._

"_Yup! I wait for the triple flip and for you to hold out your arms, and when you do I jump into your arms and fly."_

_She nodded, smiling at her son. "I'm so proud of you, Dickie-bird."_

_Before long he's up on the platform, smiling as his parents fly around in each other's arms, swinging from beam to beam or the trapeze. Then it all changes. _

_The wire snaps with a sickening sound, his parents falling, looking up at him with panicked expression. _

_The scene goes white. Sound vanishes. He hears his own muffled scream but cannot place what direction the sound is emitting from. Everything begins to blur together, and he feels himself beginning to waver. Everything is over; all he had is gone. _

Dick wakes with a startled gasp. Looking immediately to the side, he finds Wally asleep in a chair. He's been taking care of Dick for a few days, finally resting himself late the previous night, when Dick's fever finally broke.

The illness had a persistent grasp over Richard, reducing him to a snotty, feverish mess. Luckily it had broken when it did. Wally was rather close to rushing Dick to the hospital, for fear that the heat radiating from his own body would consume him.

Dick pushed his dueve back, climbing out of bed and padding to the bathroom. A nice, not shower would do him good. He felt sweaty and musty from sickness, not at all up to par.

He slipped off his sweatpants and shirt, then began the wait for the water in the shower to heat up. He turned on the fan, then padded over to the mirror. His body still glistened with sweat, but the color had returned to his skin, making him look much more human.

He leaned inward, over the sink, looking close at his face in the mirror. His skin was a light color, almost like honey. He remembered it being a bit darker when they were on the road, but now that he had settled down from show business, it had paled quite a bit.

His lips were small and pink, almost like a girls. He hated that about himself. When he was little, his parents always let him play with the stage makeup, often letting him wear mascara and lipgloss around regularly, everyone else envious at how well he pulled it off. He missed the feeling of power and foundation on his face, smoothing out any creases.

Bruce and Alfred were, of course, very supportive about his love for makeup, but with Bruce being so well known in the media, he felt it best to not wear any makeup, no matter how much he wanted to. Bruce often asked him if he didn't want to stop and apply some eyeliner, or perhaps a bit of blush, but Richard simply chuckled and waved the thought away.

Wiping a bit of fog from the mirror, Dick looked deeply into his own eyes. They were bright blue, crystal and clear. His eyes...one of his best features by far.

He wondered if Wally could ever gaze lovingly into his eyes...

Shaking his head, Dick stepped away from the mirror, slipped his underwear off, then stepped into the shower. He sighed as the hot water hit his back, washing away the sweat and germs.

After a minute under the water, simply standing and letting the water trickle over his skin, he reached reached for a bottle of liquid soap. He poured a glob of the white soap into his palms, then rubbed it all over his body, smiling as he inhaled the scent of lavender and chamomile, tiny bubbles forming on the surface of his skin.

Once he had washed his body, Dick set about his hair.

He poured a bit of pink, strawberry scented shampoo into his hands and rubbed it into his hair, lathering up nicely. Once he rinsed it all from his hair, Dick squeezed a blob of silky conditioner onto his head, then massaged it into his hair just as he had with the shampoo.

He turned the water down, as to not scold his face, and rubbed a good amount of foaming face wash into his cheeks and forehead. Then he tipped his head under the flow of the water and rinsed all the soap away.

Finally, he took a pump of shaving cream and rubbed it under his arms, then picked up a penicillin-pink razor. Dick was mostly hairless by nature, but he preferred to stay that way, and usually shaved under his arms the same way a girl would.

Once all of that was done he tossed out the razor and turned the water off, wrapping a towel around himself. He dried off, then slipped into his bathrobe and began drying his hair. He brushed it off, then sprayed it with a quick-drying formula and plugged in the blow dryer. In a matter of minutes, his hair was warm and dry.

He brushed it out, then used some foamy cream to style it a little. For school, he used to have to hell his hair back. Now that he was done with that, he preferred to let his hair run wild.

When he got back to his room, he smiled at the sight of his ginger friend, still fast asleep in his chair.

Once he had changed into black jeans and an old Romanian shirt from forever ago, he set about changing the sheets on the bed as Alfred always did after someone had been ill.

Once the bed was made up, he managed to deposit Wally on top of it without waking him. He draped a sheet over the boy, the. Stood, stroking at his bright orange hair. Wally looked so peaceful...and so fucking cute. His lips were pouty, cheeks dusted lightly with freckles.

Dick leaned forward, and planted a kiss on Wally's temple, unable to resist.

Apparently this feeling was enough to wake him though, and he bolted up, waking all at once. Wally's head collided with Dick's, squeezing a groan of pain from both of them.

Dick fell dramatically back into the chair, hands over his forehead. "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow…" Dick groaned, eyes shut tight as a few tears escaped his eyes. "Că doare." he rubbed at his forehead, where a small bruise was beginning to form.

Wally's eyes widened.

'_Oh God,' _he thought. '_I hit him! In the face! With my face! My life is over. so, so, so, so over. But I could've sworn I felt something soft on my forehead.' _

"A-are you okay?" Wally asked, leaning close to Dick. He could feel the other boy's breath on his face, mint toothpaste and strawberry shampoo.

"Yeah…" Dick muttered, face going red. Wally's face shifted to concern. He felt Dick's forehead, as he had several times over the past few days.

"You still feel warm." Wally concluded. "Maybe you should lie down."

Dick shook his head furiously. "Nu, nu, nu, nu, nu, sunt bine!"

"English please," Wally sighed, still inches away from Dick's face. The younger of the two couldn't help but stare at Wally's lips. His perfect, dark pink, smooth-like-sidewalk-chalk lips…

"R-right. Sorry. I'm fine. I just...I'm flustered." He admitted, baby blues still in place.

Wally's expression changed to confusion. "What? Because I'm here?"

Dick puffed out his cheeks. "Well yeah. I mean your face is so close to me and it's just," Wally cut him off.

"Oh so my face is putting you off?" he sounded hurt.

Dick shook his head. "No, no, no! Your face is lovely! I mean your porcelain skin and your freckles, and your lips...your perfect lips so close to mine…" Dick then realized who he was talking to, and leaned back, hand clamped over his mouth.

Wally, on the other hand, had turned a bright shade of red. Dick leaned back in, worriedly looking over his friend. "C-could I-I…" Wally began to stutter. "Could I m-maybe k-kiss y-you now?" he asked, shaking. Dick, unable to speak, nodded furiously.

Wally reached out, placing his hands on the other boy's cheeks. He ran a thumb over his jawline, breathing shakily.

Dick closed his eyes and leaned in, tilting his head a little. Without another moment wasted, their lips met, softly, and with little hesitation to return the kiss from person to person. Wally let his tongue flick over Dick's bottom lip, tasting lemon lip balm. He felt his heart flutter.

Wally had always known he was gay. Gay and nothing else. When he was nine, he wanted nothing more than his first kiss to be with another boy. He'd waited and waited, endured the occasional tease or taunt, and now, finally, his first kiss had happened.

Was happening. Right fucking now.

Wally broke the kiss, gasping for air, and he looked down at Dick. He gasped. The boy was looking down, shoulders shaking, sniffling as tear stained his jeans. Wally held Dick's shoulders, trying to calm him. "What's wrong?" he asked, panicking.

Dick looked up a little, then returned his gaze to his lap. "You'll hate me." he cried, rubbing at his eyes. Wally lifted his chin up, so their eyes could meet.

"I promise I won't hate you." he said softly, adding in his head '_unless you say you're totally straight then I'll hate you a little. But not forever.'_

Dick bit his bottom lip, unsure if what he was tasting was his chapstick or Wally. "I...I'm asexual." he muttered, trying to avert his eyes. Wally let out a sigh he didn't realize he was holding.

"I mean...I've tried," he swallowed hard. "I've tried sex before, and I just...I hate it. It's really not for me at all. The way it changes people; sometimes in little ways, sometimes in large ones. The way it pents up regret and sadness inside me until I can't function. Until I break down." Without thinking, Wally pulled dick into his arms, hugging him close.

"I understand. God, Dick, I thought you were gonna reject me. This is just who you are, and I respect that." Dick let out a sigh, then sucked it back in when Wally continued. "But I do have one question."

"Y-yeah?"

Wally must have heard the panic in his voice. "It's nothing bad!" he said. "I just wanted to know if maybe, sometime, you'd want to finish that duet?" Dick giggled, smiling. He pulled himself into Wally's lap, giving him another kiss, this time quicker than the latter.

"How about we start small." he suggested. "Movie?"

Wally nodded, then stood up. "Meet you on the couch." he smiled, then shot up. He frowned.

"What's wrong?" Dick asked.

Wally shook his head, with a little difficulty. His whole right side felt numb. "Nothing. Just had a little dizzy spell there. I'm good."

* * *

For the next week, Dick and Wally passed each other in secret. They'd make out on the piano bench after class ended, work on their duet, and DIck was even teaching Wally a song on the piano. Wally had tried to teach Dick the chorus of _Corner of the Sky_, but Dick's protests never ended with those lessons.

"Trust me Wally." he said, handing him his bow. "I cannot sing to save my life." (A/N: that's funny because Dick's voice actor in Young Justice is a professional singer. He sounds like an angel.)

Wally shrugged, then lifted his bow with a little difficulty. Over the past week, he'd felt funny. Constant pins-and-needles in his left side, dizziness, migraines, blurry vision, and even difficulty when he spoke or when others spoke to him.

Some questioned him about it, but he didn't mind all that much. After all the questions people bombarded him with after the abuse, he could handle just about anything.

"Ready?" he asked bow hovering over the strings. Dick nodded, hitting the first note to set Wally to the correct key.

Together, each one only aware of their own, they began to play.

At first, it was rushed, a bit too anxious to get to where they had first left off. But then, the both of them found that the notes escaped their grasp far too fast. This moment should never have to end. The love they felt for each other in that single performance.

There was no audience, no judge. There was nothing until the song was over, the both of them panting and shaky.

"That was amazing!" Dick exclaimed, throwing his arms up.

"Yeah…" Wally mumbled, having great pain in relation to the words spewing from Dick's mouth. His right arm went numb again, hanging motionless at his side. In what was now the background around him, he heard his bow clatter to the ground.

"Wally?" Dick asked, approaching his "boyfriend". Things between them were a lit complicated in relation to labels, and they often didn't know what to call each other. But that isn't the concern right now. Wally is twitching, left arm shaking softly. "Wally?" Dick asks again, nervousness hinting in his voice alongside concern.

"Wally!" suddenly, without warning, collapses to the ground. His eyes roll to the back of his head, breathing unsteady, violin clattering to the floor.

Distantly, Dick can hear somebody scream, and he thinks it's Megan. "Help!" he shouts, shaking Wally's shoulder. "Somebody help! Call an ambulance!"

Tears cloud his vision as he shakes Wally's shoulder, crying and screaming at him to wake up. His English begins to fade, though he can still hear himself thinking too loudly.

'_Not again!' _he cried, somebody hoisting Wally onto a gurney. '_I can't lose somebody else! Not now! Not ever again!'_

* * *

The next few days pass in a sleepless blur. Wally has suffered a stroke, causing loss of function in his right arm. He has to stay in bed, lest he risk losing his legs too. So he stays in bed, listening as Dick rambles on about everything at school, not daring to look him in the eye.

Richard, for the most part, tries to forget that Wally has had a stroke whenever he isn't visiting the hospital. It's only a few blocks from school, and Dick already has the route memorized. He puts all energy into his playing, focusing on the notes with extreme detail.

For the most part, he is fine with not remembering. Until his memories catch up with him.

It happens suddenly, as most things do. He's playing, and all of the sudden, he's deaf to the piano. "Are you stuck?" Mrs. Caroline asks.

The song has halted at a particularly difficult note.

"I…" Dick stammers, praying he knows the English words to speak. "I don't know…" She questions him again, asking if he could please play the note. He does, and finds that he still cannot hear it. Unable to think about anything but the memories from the fall, he can no longer hear.

Instead, he sees them. He sees his parents, as he knew he had, in a broken, bloody mess. They are dead all over again.

He screams, and runs away without a second thought, hands over his ears. He can hear their blood curdling screams, the snap of bone colliding with the floor, the shouts and panicked outbursts of the crowd.

Before, he saw only the background, and was deaf to the sounds. Now, he saw everything. Smelt the sickly, copper blood, heard the screams of pain and horror, saw the broken performers on the floor.

He ran and ran and ran, hands still over his ears, repeating the same words, all other English failing him.

"I don't want to remember! I don't want to remember! I don't want to remember! I don't want to remember!" He had never wanted this. Not even once.

He found himself at the hospital, eyes stinging with tears. Dick knew he wasn't supposed to stress Wally out, but it hurt too much. Remembering just hurt too much to bear.

He burst into the room, where Wally was sitting up, listening to gentle piano music on his phone. The music just made Dick cry harder, sobs daring to escape his lips. Wally looked worried. Dick wobbled up to the bed, collapsing to his knees before actually reaching his boyfriend.

Wally, though still weak, forced himself out of bed, waddling over to Richard.

"What happened?" he asked, rubbing circles with the palm of his hand on Dick's back. "Are you alright?"

Dick bit back his sobs, attempting to speak, though the scene was still playing in his head, endlessly on repeat. "I saw them!" he choked. "Bloody and broken and _gone_!" Tears dripped down his cheeks, staining them.

Wally didn't fully understand. Who had Dick se...oh. His parents. He saw his parents.

"I heard my mother...she called for me before she fell…" Though it felt like too much, Wally was beginning to question the values of this life. How dare something like this even think to cause Dick so much pain. He could tell the memory was too much for him to handle,

"I don't want to hear it!" Dick cried, forehead touching the floor, hands over his ears. "I don't wanna hear it! I don't want to remember! I don't want to think about anything!"

It was then that Wally put the pieces together. He realized his stroke must have played some part in this. Yesterday caused this, most likely.

_Wally was sitting up in bed, looking out the window. Dick was seated at the opposite side of the bed, completely silent as Wally breathed, chest rising and falling and he stared at the evening sky._

"_You see…" he began, lip quivering as he forced a smile, turning back to Richard. "It doesn't look too good for me."_

_Dick immediately crumbled. "It's not true. It's not…"_

"I'm sorry." Wally said, as Dick helped him back into bed. He was still to weak to stand on his own. "I made you remember something you didn't want to remember."

Dick didn't say anything, though Wally wished he would have said "It's not your fault." But it was his fault.

He watched as Dick pulled up a chair, and sat, motionless, barely making a sound. "You did." He said finally.

"What?" Wally asked.

"You did make me remember what I didn't want to. You did. I hate this. I hate you. **I wish I'd never met you!**"

For the next few minutes, they both let silence drape over them like a thick layer of dust. This hurt more than those words could have ever dreamed.

Finally, Wally dared to speak. "...commit double suicide with me…"


	9. Reluctant Heroes

"I love you." He mumbled. The silence is so thick he can barely breathe, but the words are barely helping. He feels dizzy, which is funny, since he's not sick. Dead, maybe but not sick.

He's half-heartedly happy that Dick is still in the room. He thought maybe his offer would scare the boy away, but he stayed in place. Looking closer, Wally could see that Dick wasn't as still as he appeared, and was actually shaking a bit. His head was down, eyes fixed on his lap, expression blank.

After another bout of quiet, Dick dares to speak. "I love you too." He says. It's unnerving, having Wally ask such a thing, then only say that he loves him. It's insane. "Very much." Dick adds, hoping the extra measure will push the conversation along.

It's hard to speak without crying after all that's happened, but they are both (somehow) keeping it together. Neither boy wants to be upset again. Not now. Preferably not ever, but feelings are inevitable.

Wally begins playing the Moonlight Sonata III on his cellphone, gaze fixed on the bottoms of his bed, specifically on the spot where the sheets fold over the edge of the mattress. It's difficult to bend over, so Wally kicks at the sheets from underneath them, hoping to wrinkle them up.

The music makes Dick flinch. This is cruel, but maybe Wally just doesn't realize what he's doing. Dick realizes he can't sit still with this music playing, and begins to fidget nervously.

Something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. It takes him a minute to realize he's crying.

Wally, who's only consciousness is brought about by the soft sniffles Dick can't help but make, looks up. At the sight of tears, he zaps back into reality. He did this. Dick was in pain because of him.

"Sorry..." He mutters, reaching to turn off the music. His cell phone snaps shut. It was an old flip phone, which Dick used to tease him playfully about.

Dick raises a fist to wipe away his tears. "It's alright." He says. Usually, his voice is loud and full of life. Never a day goes by when dull laughter comes through his life. Today, he is quiet.

Everything has happened so fast. The stroke, the suicide offer, the memory. Dick was certain that his body would break in two if anything else happened to him. And something else probably would. His scholarship recital was in a few weeks and he'd yet to practice his first piece, let alone select his second.

"How's your rehearsing going?" Wally asked, avoiding the obvious. He wanted to just out of bed and pull Dick into his arms. That wouldn't ever happen for a couple of reasons now. But still...something other than this painful small talk would do them both a world of good.

"It's fine." Dick replied.

Wally forced a small smile, even though Dick wasn't looking at him. "I bet you sound amazing. I'd love to hear you play for me."

Dick gripped at the bottom of his shirt. His knuckles were turning white.

"I hate the sound of it." he admitted, not fully thinking about his words. "I wish i could just stop hearing everything."

Wally pulled a concerned face, gaze locked on his boyfriend. "Why? You're playing is beautiful." Dick let out a choked sound; it could have been a sob of a crackle of laughter, Wally couldn't tell.

"Not anymore. Every time I play i think about you. Then I hear you asking me to die for you."

"_With_ me." Wally corrected. Dick rolled his eyes, a few tears slipping down his flushed cheeks.

He laugh/sobbed again. "Yeah, big difference. In the end it's the same result: both of us running away from our problems forever."

Now it was Wally's turn to cry. He tried to hold it back, but even so, tears fell from his eyes, staining his sheets. "I guess we never should have met, huh?" Dick felt his chest tightening. He'd said something he shouldn't have. "You were right all along. You would have been better off…" he trailed off, vision clouded and watery.

Dick, though overwhelmed by guilt, decided he might as well say everything that was on his mind. "Go ahead and guilt me into this, Wally. Go ahead. God, that's so selfish."

The other boy looked up, eyes locking with Dick's. He bit back a snarl. "You know what?" he said, voice rising with anger. "It is. I am a selfish person. But hey, it's not like I just lost everything! I'm aloud to want to quit!"

"This isn't a game that you can just restart at will!" Dick retorted, his own voice growing loud. "When you fuck up in this life, you pay the consequences."

"And what did I do to deserve this!?" Wally asked, gripping the sheets. They began to tear in his hands. "I just want this to be over! I can't do this anymore! But I can't be happy unless you're with me. I'm stuck living because of you! How fucking selfish is that?! You're the asshole here, Richard, not me!"

"A year ago, dying with you would have been the best thing ever!" Dick screamed back, rising from his chair. This was so stupid. Why did he have to defend himself here? So he didn't want to kill himself.

Fuck Wally. Fuck the piano. Fuck life. Maybe death was better...no. No, he couldn't be as weak as Wally was right now. Everything could turn out fine. Dick just had to live to find out.

"Then just go back!" Wally shouted, furthermore ripping the bedsheet. "Forget everything that happened and everything that was. No matter how big or painful...you could smile if you reset it. So, push the reset button like on our game controllers. Then, maybe, we could be alright."

Dick shut his eyes tight. "...for now, maybe, yeah." he replied. "But I could never really forget. I mean, I hit that reset button when my parents fell. But then you fell too, and I remembered everything."

At this, Wally's expression changed. He was a bit confused. "I didn't fall, Dick." he said, placing his hand over his boyfriend's. "I had a stroke. That's all. Why does that remind of the fall?"

"You collapsed, shaking and sobbing, body convulsing." he squeezed Wally's hand gently, expression pained. "They shattered like glass. But you...you're melting like ice. And ice can shatter. I guess I just can't tell the difference."

"I'm melting alright." Wally replied, returning the light squeeze to Dick's hand. "A violinist who can't lift his own bow. That's..._I'm_ pathetic."

This made anger boil beneath Dick's skin, especially as Wally concluded the thought.

"It's selfish, but I'll ask again. Commit double suicide with me."

Dick took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "A few years ago I would have died with you in a heartbeat. But now...I have music." Wally knew this was full of bullshit, but he sat back, listening politely. "With music, I've reconstructed my life. This audition is my last chance to start over. Without you with me, in my life, I can't be full. I can't live my life half-full. So, if you could hold on for me, even though I could fully lose myself…" He began to tear up, body shaking.

Wally reached out to him, trying to comfort his partner. This was difficult, considering Wally could barely move his right arm. "Please...support me in this moment that I'm about to lose my heart in!"

Wally smiled. "Of course I'll stay around for you. After all, I love you." He leaned forward, planting a kiss on Dick's forehead.

"And I love you." Dick inhaled, breath shaky.

"You're nervous." Wally pointed out, rubbing his thumb over over the top of Dick's hand.

"Well, yeah." he replied, sitting down on the side of the bed. "This is my last chance. If I do anything less than perfectly, then...I'll have nothing left. No future. And then…" he trailed off. they both knew what he meant. _Double suicide._

But it wouldn't come to that. Not now, or ever. It couldn't come to that. They needed each other too much.

Wally asked a nurse if he could be moved, and they were both brought down to the music room, where a dusty grand piano sat, lifeless.

Dick sat on the bench, and began with a scale to test the keys. Slightly out of tune, but it could probably play out fine.

"I'm gonna go ahead and predict your winning." Wally smiled. Dick had played the piece a few times, smiling at the small amount of mistakes.

"Thanks." he replied, leaning down. He pressed his lips against Wally's, smiling as he broke it to press light butterfly kisses up and down Wally's jawline. He ended it there, but they were both rather happy about it.

"Almost as good as your playing." Wally joked, Dick beginning to push the wheelchair he was in back up to his room.

"Shut up!" he smiled, swatting the back of Wally's head. "I love you too."

Their little game of practicing the song continued until 2 days before the actual audition. Dick was so nervous, he was practically vibrating.

"You'll be fine!" Wally reassured him. He had felt funny for the past few days. Weak, emotionally as well as physically. "I'll catch up with you. Gotta take my pills."

Dick nodded, and scurried off to the piano. He got about 6 seconds in before he stopped. Putting up an act for Wally was difficult, but playing over and over again was beginning to hurt. He still could not hear the notes he was playing, and tried to close his eyes as always but…

...every time he saw a broken, bleeding version of Wally. Exactly like his parents, if not more horrifying. He touched his forehead to the keys, sobs escaping his lips.

It sounded physically painful, which was unfortunate, as this was the exact moment Wally wheeled back in. Eyes wide, he hid, until he was sure Dick was okay, then came in with a smile.

The sight of Dick, sobbing uncontrollably over the piano haunted Wally that night. His broken, pitiful cries, mixed with small, barely audible croaks of "Wally…" and "I'm sorry!". He knew who was at fault.

The whole night, Wally sat, unmoving in his bed. His eyes fell dull, mouth dry, voice unwilling to work past a dry, never-ending whisper;

"_It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault_

_it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault,"_

He'd rotate from staring at the clock on the wall to his right hand, which could barely move. He could only blink, and watch it twitch a bit in response to him silently ordering it to move.

If this hadn't happened, Dick wouldn't be in so much pain. They would be happy. They wouldn't have missed to showcase, and Dick wouldn't have had to walk 4 miles from the bus stop to get to the hospital, now coming right from Wayne Manor.

"_It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault_

_it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault,"_

Wally managed to grab his cell phone, not risking anything else. Paper could be thrown away or tossed about. But phones were amazingly fast and bulky enough to not get lost as easily as a note could be.

He found Dick's number in his contacts, then tried his best to type with one hand.

"_It's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault_

_it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault it's my fault,"_

Sent.

"_It's my fault, and I'm sorry."_

Sent.

He wobbled up to the window. From the 5th floor, the view was amazing. managing that far was amazing to him. He stood there for several hours, just staring. A familiar voice jarred him from his thoughts.

"Wally?!" Dick called, running breathlessly. His boyfriend was sitting on the railing, fists tightly wrapped around the metal bars.

"Wally! Wally stop!" he cried, panting as he sprinted. The cold morning air stung his cheeks and stuck in his throat. This wasn't happening. This was not happening. _This wasn't fucking happening._

Wally looked down, and smiled softly at Dick. He turned around, neck bending back to look at Dick as he gripped the rails.

"I'm sorry." he mumbled, still smiling. A soft breeze brushed past his face, fluffing out his hair a bit. He leaned back, then released his grip.

As the air whipped past him, he bit back a scream, in favor of listening to a still world. He faintly heard a shout, and his name screamed over and over again, but he didn't pay attention. He simply closed his eyes, and remembered the first time he met Richard John Grayson-Wayne.

"_Dude, that was awesome! Please tell me you're the pianist?" _

"_Uh…Yeah". _

"_Awesome! Group B right? Well, I'm sure you're for group B because that's my group and I can't help but feel connected to your style somehow."_

"_My style?"_

"_Yeah, your style. The way you play, it was so...magical. Not exactly a unique term for it, but it so was! And you're eyes were closed for most of that too! Like, wow! Either you really know your stuff or you've played that 8o million times."_

And then, perhaps a fragment of a second before death came with a single blow, he remembered his first thought about Richard.

'_Oh shit, he's cute! Wally Grayson-Wayne. Or maybe Richard West? Either one...He'll have to be mine! Man...love is kinda crazy."_

**SPLAT!**


End file.
